stringing along the east range of the Double O and the Box B. East of
them lay the Diamond Dot. Slim and Chuck rode south together. They were
to patrol near the trail which led from the Box B to Dirty Water.
“Think we’ll get anything by this night riding?” asked Chuck.
“We may not get anything, but neither will the rustlers,” replied Slim.
“I’ve got a hunch that the key to the whole mystery is somewhere around
the Diamond Dot. I saw Hal Titzell there this afternoon. He was watching
us from a second story window.”
“You mean that the Diamond Dot is rustling the stuff from the Double O
and the Box B and then Titzell steps in and buys the cattle?” asked
Chuck.
“It might be something like that,” admitted Slim, “but I’m not going to
advance too many theories. We’ve got to be careful they don’t spot us as
cattle detectives.”
They parted near the trail to Dirty Water, Chuck riding further south
along the east line of the Box B.
Midnight passed, and up and down the long line of riders there was
nothing reported out of the way. Pat Beals was on one side of Slim and
Chuck on the other. He contacted them at intervals and they talked
briefly before starting the return ride down their section of the line.
It was lonely work, riding the range at night, with the feeling that
rustlers might be encountered at any minute. Slim fingered the six gun
at his side and made sure that it was free in the holster. Then he
slipped his rifle in and out of the scabbard to satisfy himself that it
was ready for instant action.
The thin moonlight faded and the night became doubly black. Another hour
and the sky over the Cajons would brighten, but in the interval before
that Slim had the feeling that many things might happen.
He was riding north when trouble started. Behind him and from Chuck’s
section of the range came three shots, one after another. Slim wheeled
and listened. There was a sharp, terrible fusillade. Then silence.
Whipping his own gun from his holster he fired three times in the air
and urged Lightning into a mad gallop. From behind him he could hear the
alarm signal echoing up the line as other riders repeated the warning
shots and he knew that they were pounding along in his wake. The
rustlers were riding somewhere before him and he knew they had already
silenced Chuck’s guns. With black anger in his heart, he leaned over
Lightning and urged the great sorrel to even greater speed.
Chapter Eighteen
On A New Trail
Slim and Lightning sped through the darkness at a mad, headlong pace
that fairly devoured distance. They passed the end of Slim’s patrol and
entered Chuck’s territory.
Slim pulled the sorrel up short and listened. From far behind him came
the pounding of hoofs, the other Box B and Double O riders coming to the
alarm but ahead of him there was only a dismal silence. The sound of gun
shots had long since died away and Slim progressed more slowly.
There was a chance that he might walk into a trap, but an even greater
chance that if he hurried he might pass Chuck in the dark.
It was nerve wracking to hold Lightning down to a walk, but Slim kept up
the steady pace as the sound of the riders behind him came nearer.
Pat Beals was the first to catch him.
“What’s happened?” he shouted.
“I don’t know,” replied Slim. “I heard Chuck give the alarm and then
there was a volley of shots. I haven’t heard a thing since then and
haven’t been able to find Chuck.”
Other riders joined them and they spread out to hunt for the missing
cowboy. The sky was graying before they found the first clue. Joe Haines
stumbled on the trail. His gun blazed three quick shots into the sky and
they rallied to him at a gallop.
Joe pointed to a broad trail before him.
“There goes one of our choice bunches of beef,” he said bitterly. “That
means Chuck stumbled on the rustlers on our range.”
“Comb this section again,” roared Nels angrily. “Maybe they left Chuck
wounded some place just out of our sight. Get him first, then the
cattle.”
Again the riders, grimly silent, spread out and through the early hours
of the morning they rode in search of the missing Box B puncher. It was
mid forenoon before they gathered around the chuck wagon, weary and
hungry from the all-night vigil and the search.
Squatting on their heels, with pans of piping hot food before them, they
listened as Joe Haines outlined the next step in their campaign against
the rustlers.
“It’s pretty evident that the rustlers captured Chuck and forced him to
go with them,” he said. “The thing to do now is to go after the cattle.
The trail’s fresh and even though they’ve a few hours start, we’ll be
able to overtake them.”
“That trail’s heading for the Diamond Dot,” said Nels harshly.
“I know it. Look to your guns, boys. There’ll be trouble before the
day’s over. If any of you want to pull out now, that’s all right with
us.”
No man moved as though to leave and after the hearty breakfast, each one
examined his guns.
With Nels and Joe in the lead, they swung into their saddles. It was an
earnest, silent group of riders that trotted south along the Box B line
to pick up the trail of the missing cattle. They found the trail and
turned east into Diamond Dot territory, with the rugged foothills of the
Cajons only a few miles ahead of them.
Al Bass leaned over and spoke to Slim.
“Once the rustlers get the cattle to the Cajons, it will be tough
finding them. They’ll break up the herd and we’ll have to comb every
valley.”
Slim nodded and gave voice to his thoughts.
“Aren’t we likely to run into the Diamond Dot, going through their range
this way?”
“I’m kind of hoping we will,” shot back Al. “My own hunch is that the
Diamond Dot is in thick with the rustlers. If they aren’t actually doing
the rustling, they know who it is. Why, the Box B or the Double O would
never let rustlers drive a herd across their range.”
It was shortly after noon and they were well into the Diamond Dot
country when Slim, who was now in the lead, sighted a cloud of dust
coming toward them. A few minutes later a plodding herd of cattle was
visible and behind it was ranged a cordon of riders.
The Box B and Double O punchers paused to survey the scene. Then Joe
exploded.
“What nerve!” he roared. “Those are Box B cattle and that’s a Diamond
Dot gang riding behind them.”
His hands flashed to his side and his gun leaped up, ready for instant
action, but Nels reached out a huge hand and restrained him.
“Wait a minute, Joe. They’re driving the cattle toward your range. Hold
your temper and we’ll see what’s up.”
A lone rider broke away from the group behind the cattle and galloped
toward the visitors. Slim recognized the powerful, squat figure of Hack
Cook, owner of the Diamond Dot.
Cook pulled up sharp and his horse reared as he jerked savagely on the
bit.
“What’s the idea of invading my range?” asked Cook angrily, his heavy
face flushing.
“What’s the idea of driving our cattle around on your range?” countered
Joe.
“We’re bringing them home. Found them here a couple of hours ago and
started back with them. I don’t want those scrubs eating up my grass.”
“So you found them?” drawled Nels, his light blue eyes little more than
slits under his shaggy brows. “Well, mister, let me tell you, those
cattle were rustled last night off the Box B’s east line and one of
their riders is missing. Someone’s going to have a lot of explaining to
do.”
“I’m not explaining anything,” replied Cook. “We found the cattle this
morning. Go get ’em and take them home.”
“Your horse looks about worn out, Hack,” put in Joe. “Must have been
doing a lot of night riding.”
“We don’t ride our range at night,” replied the Diamond Dot boss.
“Well, anyway, your horse is about worn out. Better get another or this
nag may collapse and you’d have to walk home, which would be just too
bad.”
Cook growled something under his breath, but wheeled and galloped back
to join his own riders. They soon drew away from the Box B cattle,
heading back for their ranch house.
The Box B and Double O riders circled the herd and started it again on
the journey back to the home range.
Joe scanned the cattle with practiced eye.
“Holy mackerel,” he exclaimed. “We’ve been gyped right. There should be
at least 250 head in this bunch and I can’t count more than 185 or 188.”
Slim and Nels checked the number in the herd. Joe was right. At most
there were not more than 190 in the herd.
“Which means the rustlers skimmed the cream of the herd and turned the
rest back. It would be too easy to trail a bunch this size. Also,
turning them back allays our suspicions,” said Joe.
“Darned if I don’t think it was the Diamond Dot that rustled the stuff
last night, took what they wanted, and started back with the rest when
they figured we’d be on the trail,” said Al Bass.
“I think you’re right,” agreed Slim. “I want to know what’s happened to
Chuck.”
Nels looked at the Cajons with a critical eye. “I expect the answer’s
some place in the mountains, but it would take weeks to comb them and we
can’t leave our own range unprotected that long. We’ll just have to play
along and hope that we can get the rustlers and find your friend at the
same time.”
But Slim was sick at heart for he knew what had happened to the other
cattle detectives sent into the Creeping Shadows country. They had
disappeared, never to be heard from again and he was afraid that a
similar fate had befallen Chuck.
They herded the cattle back to the Box B range and then Slim drew Joe to
one side.
“I’m riding alone for a while,” he said. “If I get the breaks, I’ll turn
up some valuable clues on the rustlers and also find Chuck.”
“Good luck, boy,” said Joe.
Slim turned away from the other riders and headed straight back into the
Diamond Dot range. There was at least three hours of daylight left and
he soon reached the place where they had met the Diamond Dot riders.
Slim pressed on along the trail of the cattle, following it into the
first of the Cajon foothills.
There he saw that the cattle, driven at a hard pace after being taken
from the Box B range, had been watered and the bulk of the herd turned
back toward their home range. It was evident that the rest of the cattle
had been driven in small groups into the foothills. This, in itself, did
not interest Slim greatly, for he had been convinced of what had
happened. He was seeking a clue that would lead him to the hideout where
he hoped he would find Chuck.
Half a dozen trails led away from the water hole and Slim finally
decided on one which led toward the heart of the Cajons. It was sound
reasoning that the hideout of the rustlers would be in some mountain
fastness.
Slim followed the trail cautiously, wary lest he ride into a trap. The
trail branched in several places, but Slim pressed deeper into the
mountain country, climbing higher and higher.
The trail was well worn and he knew that it had been used recently so he
kept on. To his surprise, it followed a low pass through the mountains
and it was mid evening when he reached the summit.
Behind him spread the Creeping Shadows country while to the east and
north the moon was coming over the horizon. Far away he saw the flash of
a locomotive headlight and he determined on a new course of action.
Undoubtedly this trail, unknown to anyone on the Box B or the Double O
as far as he knew, led down to the railroad, perhaps even to Mopstick,
the shipping point for cattle from the Creeping Shadows country.
Chapter Nineteen
More Clues
Slim rode for another hour and then, with the moonlight bright, found a
suitable camping place away from the trail. He tethered Lightning and
unrolled his own blanket. In spite of his worry over Chuck’s
disappearance, he was soon asleep, worn out by the previous night ride
and the long day in the saddle.
He was up with the dawn and a few minutes later, astride Lightning, was
going down the trail. It was nearly mid morning when he reached the
railroad and turned to his left to follow the line to the cattle
shipping point.
A locomotive hooted a few minutes later and Slim moved away from the
track as a transcontinental limited roared by. Passengers on the rear
platform waved to the lone rider and Slim returned the greeting. Far
down the rails he could see the cluster of buildings that was Mopstick,
but the limited shot by without stopping.
Mopstick consisted of a water tank, a blistered station, three boxcars
which had been set on the ground for the families of the section men,
and the stockyards. There was no store.
Slim tied Lightning in the shadow of the water tank where a trough
overflowed with cool water. Entering the depot, he found the operator
busy copying orders for a freight that was wheezing along in the wake of
the limited.
Slim had reached the point where he needed information and needed it in
a hurry. When the agent turned around he produced the small badge of
authority from the governor and found that it opened, as though by
magic, the way to obtain the facts he sought.
“I want to see your records on cattle shipments in the last year,” said
Slim.
Without protest, the agent produced the large book with carbons of the
bills of lading. The Diamond Dot, the smallest outfit in the north end
of the Creeping Shadows, had shipped as many cattle as the Double O and
the Box B combined.
“The Diamond Dot is a pretty good customer of this railroad,” said Slim.
“Just about the best we’ve got around here. They’ve been shipping a lot
more stuff in the last year than ever before.”
“Ever hear anything about any rustling going on in the Creeping Shadows
country?” asked Slim, watching the agent intently.
“Sure. There’s been bad talk for a couple of years, but nothing seems to
come of it. Lots of people think the Box B and the Double O are getting
ready to grab the Diamond Dot.”
“Who says so?”
“Why I’ve heard Hack Cook of the Diamond Dot tell how the big outfits
were trying to run over him.”
“Then doesn’t it seem kinda queer that Cook’s shipping as many cattle as
the other two combined?”
“I asked him about that once,” replied the railroad man, “and he said he
was cleaning out his range so if they chased him out he wouldn’t lose so
much.”
Slim grunted. It was an explanation, but a pretty thin one. He went out
to the yards. They had not been used for some weeks, but he recalled
that the last bill of lading had been dated only the week before. He
turned back to the station.
“Your last bill of lading was dated only a week ago,” he told the agent,
“but those yards haven’t been used for at least a month. Something
funny’s going on around here. You’d better talk and talk fast.”
“I didn’t say the cattle had been shipped from here,” replied the agent.
“You didn’t ask me where they were shipped from. Just keep your temper
and I’ll tell you.”
The freight whistled in, stopping only long enough for water and orders,
and then clanked out again. When he had reported the passage of the
freight, the agent turned to Slim.
“Cook drives his cattle through a low pass in the Cajons and hits the
main line about fifteen miles below here. In order to save time we load
direct on a way freight, using a portable chute.”
“Then Cook lets you know a couple of days in advance so you can have the
chute on the way freight?”
“Sure. I have to see that the freight’s carrying enough empty cattle
cars to take care of his stuff. He’s shipping two cars out tomorrow
night.”
“You’re certain about that?”
The agent handed Slim a copy of an order he had sent the dispatcher,
asking for two empty cattle cars in the way freight the next night.
Slim tossed the order back.
“Keep your mouth shut about my visit. If a word leaks out that I’ve been
here, I’ll know who’s to blame and I’ll see that you get in plenty of
trouble.”
He hurried out of the station, his mind buzzing with plans. Cook was
shipping cattle the next night fifteen miles down the line. It was time
for action. There wasn’t a minute to lose. Hours of hard riding faced
him, but he felt that within the next two days the mystery of the
rustling in the Creeping Shadows country would be solved.
Chapter Twenty
The Cloudburst
It was on the ride back to the line camp of the Double O and the Box B
that Lightning showed her magnificent stamina. Mile after mile the big
sorrel covered at a trail-eating lope.
Slim didn’t dare return to the Creeping Shadows country through the low
pass. Instead, he rode miles out of his way and came in further north,
cutting across a corner of the Diamond Dot range and then racing along
the east line of the Double O.
It was late afternoon when threatening clouds rolled out of the Three
Soldiers in the west. The air grew still and moist. Nature seemed to
hush as the angry clouds climbed higher. The sun was blotted out. It was
one of those quick, terrible storms of midsummer and Slim looked for
shelter. There was none. He could only ride, hoping that the rain would
not come down too hard.
The first big drops pelted him. Then the skies opened, a gray wall of
water rushing down from the heavens. In spite of the poncho, Slim was
soon soaked and the water rushed off Lightning’s flanks in torrents.
Heads down, horse and rider plodded on.
It was impossible to see more than a few hundred feet, but Slim knew he
was in a valley. That was bad. The rain was of almost cloudburst
proportions and a wall of water might come sweeping along at any moment.
Slim urged Lightning to a faster pace, and the faithful sorrel
responded. The cowboy looked for higher ground, but instead they seemed
to be going down a gentle slope. Then they looked down on what had been
a dry wash. It was running several feet deep with water and rising all
the time. On the other side lay higher ground and as Slim debated what
to do, the dull rumble of oncoming water could be heard above the noise
of the storm.
If he turned back, it might be hours before he could cross the stream.
He leaned over and spoke to Lightning. “Let’s go,” he urged her and the
sorrel started down the bank. Slim almost held his breath as the water
swirled about them. Lightning walked carefully, for a slip would send
them both into the torrent.
The sound of the oncoming water filled the heavens with its terrible
roar and Slim looked upstream. Around a bend poured a wall of water,
black, raging, death-dealing.
Lightning’s hoofs touched the other bank and with a great leap the
sorrel left the water. But danger still lurked for horse and rider. The
wall of water was spreading out. They were far from safety.
As though sensing that death was riding hard behind them, Lightning shot
ahead, mud flying from her hoofs. In great leaps the sorrel kept ahead
of the madly rushing waters, angling always toward the higher ground.
Slim looked behind. The water was gaining. He urged Lightning to another
burst of speed and the great horse responded. It didn’t seem possible
that they would escape, but with a last noble effort, Lightning flashed
over the muddy ground and they reached safety just as the flood waters
swept by.
Slim pulled up his horse and watched the torrent roar down the valley.
Gratefully he leaned over and stoked Lightning’s head.
“That’s another score in your favor, girl,” he said. “Maybe I’ll be able
to repay you some day.”
Almost as suddenly as it had descended the storm broke and the sky
cleared. The sun went down behind the Three Soldiers in a crimson aura
of light and Slim and Lightning pressed on over ground that had hardly
been dampened by the rain. They reached the line camp just at dusk and
found the Double O and Box B riders getting ready for the night patrol.
Slim swung out of the saddle as Joe and Nels hurried toward him.
“What luck?” asked Joe.
“Plenty,” replied Slim, “but first I’ve got to take care of Lightning
and then get a little grub for myself. I’m starved.”
Half an hour later, with a plate of steaming food before him and the
Double O and Box B riders grouped around, he related the events of the
last few hours.
“I’ve suspected Hack Cook for some time,” said Joe Haines, hitching his
gun belt higher when Slim told them that another shipment of stolen
cattle was to be dispatched the next night.
“They’ve shipped the last of _our_ cattle,” rumbled Nels, his hands
shaking with rage. The other cowboys backed up his remarks with
determined expressions.
“What’s the plan of action?” Joe asked Slim, for the young rider, by his
resourcefulness, had become the acknowledged leader now in planning the
campaign against the rustlers.
“I think we’d better hit the trail for Mopstick. Then swing south along
the railroad and lay a trap for the rustlers. They’ll drive the cattle
through the low pass in the Cajons and we’ll catch them red-handed. That
will give us all of the evidence we’ll need.”
Nels nodded his approval and Joe looked around at the others.
“You boys all set for a clash with the rustlers?” he asked.
“You know it,” replied Al Bass.
Less than an hour later, the Box B and the Double O cowboys left the
line camp, Slim taking the lead and Nels and Joe trailing close behind.
At the pace they planned to travel, it would be an all night ride to
Mopstick, where they would water their horses, rest, and then ride
leisurely down the railroad and lay their trap for the rustlers.
They crossed the country where Slim had almost been trapped by the
cloudburst and found the stream nearly back to normal. Hour after hour
they moved along the trail, cutting through the foothills and then over
the Cajons and down the other side.
Slim was thinking of the action that would come the next night,
considering first one plan and then another for cornering the rustlers.
He didn’t want bloodshed if it could be avoided. If things went well,
the rustling in the Creeping Shadows country would be broken soon.
It was nearly dawn when they reached Mopstick, where they watered their
horses at the trough under the railroad tank. A fast mail thundered
through the hamlet, and Al Bass was taken for a ride by his cayuse,
which went wild at the sound of the locomotive whistle.
Pat Beals and one of the Double O riders had brought along the grub and
they all lent a hand in getting breakfast. After that the horses were
turned into the stockyard and fed while their riders slept in the cool
shade of the water tank. It was noon before they were ready to start
down the railroad.
Slim went into the tiny depot and spoke to the agent.
“What time will the freight be along to pick up the cattle?” he asked.
“About six o’clock. That gives them better than an hour to get the beef
loaded.”
“Thanks,” said Slim. “Mind you now, not a word about this to anyone.”
A few minutes later an even dozen grim-faced cowboys started down the
railroad, their horses refreshed by the feed and rest and the riders
alert and ready for whatever blazing action the next few hours might
hold for them.
The agent had given Slim explicit directions on just where the freight
would stop and how the cattle were loaded. It was midafternoon when the
cowboys reached the place along the right-of-way. Fortunately there was
plenty of cover nearby, low undergrowth providing an excellent hiding
place for riflemen while an outcropping of rock would shelter the horses
from the rustlers.
Slim, Joe and Nels surveyed the scene carefully. There must be no slips.
The trap must be carefully laid.
It was finally decided to place riflemen in the underbrush, holding
several riders in reserve behind the rock outcrop. The minute the firing
started, they would sweep out and cut off the escape. With the train
blocking the railroad, the riflemen on each side and a mounted rear
guard, there seemed little chance that the cattle thieves would be able
to get away.
Nels took charge of the riflemen while Slim and Joe elected to ride with
the men who would cut off the escape from the rear. By the time they had
taken their places, a cloud of dust could be seen on the trail from the
Cajons. The rustlers were coming, driving the stolen cattle leisurely,
for there was ample time before the freight arrived.
A small stream ran a half mile back from the right-of-way and it was
here that the rustlers paused to water the cattle. Slim, watching from
the protection of the rock outcropping, counted six riders.
The sound of an engine whistle came to them faintly and he turned to see
a plume of smoke far up the track. The local freight was coming. The
rustlers heard the whistle and started the cattle moving toward the
tracks. The showdown was near and Slim felt cool and ready for anything
that might happen.
Chapter Twenty-One
Trapped